


Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

by wepaytheprice



Series: Killer on Repeat [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Italian Mafia, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Serial Killer Ryan Bergara, Tragic Romance, shane madej - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-01-27 19:27:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21397408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wepaytheprice/pseuds/wepaytheprice
Summary: The year was 1954. I was young and dumb with no real direction in life. However, when I found my path, there was hell to pay.
Series: Killer on Repeat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286738
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter One

The mafia is a risky business, but if you like steady income and danger like me, then you’ll love it. My name is Rodrigo Ezra Amanti, but like most people, you can call me Rod. I never actually thought I’d join the ranks of gangsters, but hey you did what you did to survive in those days. I was born and raised in New Orleans, Louisiana. It was a lovely city, always bustling and filled with music. I was in a little gang with my Latino and black friends; we were greasers sorta. We smoked, Mary Jane and cigarettes, we drank, we rode motorcycles and we got into fights. It was never boring in New Orleans. I worked in a mechanics shop with a few buddies, including my neighbor and best friend Micheal. He was a tall, lanky, low-income white boy that I had known my entire life. I called him Mikey, he didn’t mind it so much when it was me, but he sure as hell hated it when it was somebody else. He was my first and last memory on this Earth. Mikey was a good guy, smart, resourceful, and he was nice to pretty much everyone. He was a bayou boy at heart.

Anyway, my story truly started when my sister Francesca got into some trouble. See my sister was, for lack of a better term, fast. She hit on anything that walked on two legs and had something between ‘em. No one dared to call her a slut though cause they’d have to deal with me, and I was a scary bastard back then. She started flirting with this guy, and he was a real bitch let me tell you. Why she picked him, I have no idea, but it happened. I stepped out of the mechanic’s shop, just after I closed it and she was all up on him. I rolled my eyes and went to collect her and probably apologize to the poor son of a bitch. Suddenly, he smacked the hell outta her. Francesca was on the ground in three seconds flat. Then he began to kick her while she was down. I don’t think rage begins to describe what I felt. I saw red. All I could think was, ‘I’m gonna kill him’ and I did. It wasn’t my true intention but it happened anyway. One good swing to the jaw and more than a hard hit to the back of the head by a brick wall did the job. My sister looked at me in horror, and I just stood there. “What the Sam Hell did you just do?” she yelled and I cupped her mouth, “be quiet, nothing happened here understand?” She nodded once and we rushed around the corner and caught the bus home. 

Now if there’s one thing I know for certain, I couldn’t hide a goddamn thing from Mikey. He knew me forwards, backward and sideways. If I made the decision to hide something from him, he’d know. Now I had done plenty of illegal activities in my day, and the majority of them Michael either saw them or was a part of them. The rest he just heard about. However, not once did he rat on me. If Mike was anything, he was loyal. Come to think of it, I think loyalty was taught in his household. If you didn’t stick by your loved ones, what were you really? Especially back then. Everyone was banded together because they were against someone else. For example, the boys I grew up with were all Hispanic (minus Michael) and we were always saying ‘fuck you’ to the white man. Shit, even Mike said fuck you to the white man. He did not tolerate racism. 

Anyway, I will reiterate that I could not hide a goddamn thing from Micheal. When we got home, he sat on my front porch, his long legs spilled onto the stairs. “Fran, go inside,” I instructed as I pushed her in front of me, “I’ll be in soon.” She obeyed quickly. My friend stood up and walked towards me, “What the fuck happened tonight?” I looked around nervously, “I can’t tell you.” He scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets, “don’t give me that shit Rodrigo. You know better than to say that.” I sighed and gestured towards my backyard. Michael led the way. Once we got back there and I secured the gate, he pulled me close, “you gonna tell me now or am I gonna have to beg?” I nodded and leaned up against the house. “I killed someone,” I murmured, “it was an accident, I swear to god it was an accident. He was hurting Franny, and I couldn’t let him do that.” He leaned next to me, “I believe you.” My friend looked over at me and let out a sigh, “I want you to stay at my house tonight. I know you better than I know myself, and I know what you’re gonna do if I leave you alone tonight.” I scoffed and closed my eyes, “I hate you.” He chuckled and threw his arm around my shoulder, “Yeah, yeah, I love you too.” 

His house was small just like mine. It was just Michael's father, mother and himself. For me, it was my mother, father, two sisters, my Zia and her twin sons. We were cramped but we were content. Both my parents worked and got home late. They were used to me staying the night at Michael’s house, but tonight was different. This was the first life I have ever taken, and I was pretty shaken up about it. He was my rock, and I totally dug him. I couldn’t tell him that though. It was the one thing I always had to hide.

We were in his room, he was strumming on his six-string while he hummed Jambalaya on the Bayou. I sat in his windowsill and stared out at the stars. There weren’t many people where we lived, it was kinda out in the country, I used to hate it, but man do I miss those stars. They don’t shine like they used to. “Mikey,” I murmured as I traced the Big Dipper, “do you think I’m evil?” The music stopped. “Never in a million years,” he replied, I heard the strings rattle as he shifted his guitar, “you are the best man I ever met.” I smiled softly and tapped on his window, “I’ve ever met, not ‘I ever met.’” He chuckled, “I know my speech is bad, but do you always have to correct me?” I turned my body around in the window, “well of course I do. Someone has to make sure you sound educated.” 

I hopped down from the window and collapsed on his bed laughing. He laid down next to me and folded his hands across his chest. “Hey Ezra,” he rolled onto his side and looked at me, “can you promise me something?” I turned to look at him, “anything. Well I can’t promise you I’ll stop smoking cause I won’t, but anything else I can.” Michael closed his eyes and took off his glasses, “promise me you won’t leave.” 

I sat up and look at him incredulously, “you think I’d leave New Orleans without you? I promised you as soon as we get enough money, we’re getting the hell outta here.” He shot up from bed, “that’s not what I meant!” The room fell silent and he looked at me with those guilty eyes. “I didn’t mean to shout at ya, but that’s not what I meant when I asked.” I scooted closer to him, “just say what you mean then.” “Don’t die,” he sniffled and hung his head, “promise me you won’t die before me.” I cupped his face, “look at me Mikey,” he did so and I told him, “I swear on my soul I’ll stay right here ‘til the day you die.” 

After a while, we managed to pull away from the emotional moment and relax. We fell asleep in our jeans and it didn’t seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter. It didn’t stay that way, but it’s nice to think back on it. I miss being twenty-five sometimes.

I remember waking up the next morning to Michael’s father burst into the room. “Boys! You won’t believe this!” I sat up in a daze and my friend just made a noise for him to continue. “Ol’ Johnny Panram was found dead on the corner of Royal this morning.” Fear filled me and Michael sat up fast. “You’re kidding!” Mike exclaimed, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed, “How’d he die?” “He cracked his head open,” he said and leaned against the door, “there’s a lot of rumors going around.” This intrigued Mike and he had to ask, “What rumors?” His father looked around before he whispered, “the police think it’s the mafia. I heard he owed them a lot of money.” I sighed with relief and I rubbed the back of my neck, “poor bastard,” I closed my eyes, “it takes a real candy ass to kill someone like that.” His father nodded curtly, “damn straight son. You’d make a good cop with that kinda attitude.” 

Every time I think back on that statement I chuckle to myself. Me? A cop? Could you imagine? Shit, I would’ve been smooth as a motherfucker. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” I said getting up from the bed, “I’m gonna be late for work and I need to change clothes.” His father stepped aside and patted me on the back, “I could drop you boys off at work on my way to the station if that’s okay.” I looked back at Michael who nodded once, “sure, thank you very much sir.” 

Work was rough, to say the least, and it got rougher as time went on. Not to mention, I was kidnapped while I was at the mechanic’s shop. Oh yeah, I got fucking kidnapped, ain’t my life something. 

It was around 2:30 pm and I was working on this seafoam green Thunderbird when this guy walked in wearing a fancy suit. I cast an eyeball at him, but if he didn’t have a rust-bucket for me to fix, I didn’t really give a damn about him. However, he gave a damn about me. I remember Mikey rushing into the office to do something. I found out later that he was calling his dad since he was a beat cop at the time. Anyway, the flitty fuck approached me and said, “You Rodrigo Amanti?”

Like a dumbass, I replied, “yeah? Who’s looking for me?” The words “my boss,” already raised alarms but I’m not the type to let myself get spooked without a good reason. I felt something press against my rib cage. “You really brought a heater into a public area?” I asked, completely unfazed. I’ve had a barrel placed between my eyes before, having it against my torso was nothing. “You’re coming with me kid,” he growled, “try anything funny and I’ll shoot you, you understand?” I nodded, “I’m not an idiot, I do speak English.” I felt his other hand grab the back of my throat as he led me outside. I shot a glance to my friends hoping they received the message. That message being, ‘stand down. I’m fine.’ 

Michael wasn’t happy about it. I could hear him asking the boys, “why didn’t you stop them?” Only for them to reply, “he gave us the ‘he had a gun look!’” That worried Mike a bit more, but I made a promise to him, and I was determined to keep it. 

The car ride was interesting. I kept asking questions and being a smartass, and apparently they didn’t know much about me.

“Where are we going?”  
“You’ll find out.”  
“Why me?”  
“I don’t know.”  
“Do you know anything?”  
“Vaffanculo.”  
“Fanculo a me, codardo!”

The guy pulled over and looked me up and down. “You’re Italian?” he asked with genuine surprise, “yeah, my parents were born and raised in Ventiza.” The fucker actually smiled at me before scoffing and murmuring, “no wonder.” 

The place was really beautiful, let me tell you. It was like a palace compared to my little hovel on out in the bayou. I was awed beyond belief. The guy that brought me there said, “The Little Man will meet you in his studiare, you better hurry along.” Everything clicked in that moment. I was at the house of the mob boss of Louisiana, the man who avoided the police with such expertise, the man who’s probably had more people killed than the police themselves. I was at Carlos Marcello’s house. I was about to meet The Godfather. 

This was the moment that really changed my life. I remember walking into that study, my blood felt icy. He looked up from his papers on his desk and gestured for me to sit. I did so. He took off his glasses and folded his hands as he gave me the most intense stare. It was like having God size you up for a battle against the devil. I was terrified and intrigued at the same time. 

“Sei Italiano?” he quizzed as he scanned me up and down,” si signore.”  
He nodded once and I saw his posture relax a bit, “Quale parte d’Italia sei di bambino?”  
I relaxed a little as well, “Venezia signore.”  
He smiled and leaned back in his chair, “you don’t have to call me sir. Carlos is fine.” I let out a deep breath and made a mental note. “Alright then, Carlos. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you bring me here?” The mobster chuckled, “polite yet brave, a good combination, no?” He reached under his desk and pulled out a glass bottle of rum, “I brought you here cause I know you killed that cop.” I didn’t deny it. “He was hurting my sister, and I wasn’t gonna stand for it.” Marcello pointed at me, “see, that’s another reason I brought you here. You understand the meaning of family, and you’ll do what's necessary to protect them, correct?” I nodded once, “you’d make a good lawyer. I think you’d do well to cover our tracks.” I shook my head, “I’m a hothead, the moment someone makes me mad I burst. No good in a courtroom.” Carlos nodded as if he acknowledged the statement. “Then how about an intimidator,” he suggested, “you don’t kill anyone and you get to knock the hell outta people for a lot of money.” I tilted my head to the side, “why do you wanna hire me?” He sipped his rum, “you did us a great service by killing that cop. You were clean and efficient and there was no evidence. It was the perfect kill. I want your skills and in turn your family will get money and protection.” 

I thought about really hard. My best friend’s father was a cop, and there was no way in sam hell they were gonna keep me away from him. They were gonna have to kill us both. 

“My best friend,” I started, “I’ve known him since I could walk, he’s family to me. As much as it pains me, I love the lanky sonuvabitch.” Carlos nodded, his face recognized there was a ‘but’ coming along, yet he was curious enough to hear it. “His father’s a cop, but we can leave his father out of this can’t we? We could go far! I mean, we could move into a place on our own and he wouldn’t be a problem! He doesn’t have to die, does he?” Marcello quickly set down his rum and held his hands up, “no no no, no one has to die! You misunderstand the business we run here bambino. We are not murderers, we are businessmen. We may have some suspicious looking records, but we are businessmen nonetheless. I will not tolerate cold-blooded murder, your friend is safe, I can promise you that.” 

I let out a sigh of relief.  
“His father, however,” Carlos continued, “I can’t promise he’ll live.” I nodded once, “I understand.”  
The Godfather reached out his hand, the diamonds on his watch glittered in the sunlight. He smiled, a genuine yet devilish smile, “are we in business?” 

This was the moment that changed everything. This job, it changed me. I was the same but I was different at the same time. It was the best decision and the worst decision of my entire life.  
I took his hand, “we’re in business boss.”  
“Welcome to the family bambino. Don’t fuck this up.”  
“I won’t.”

I remember leaving his study and the guy that came to get me stood outside. “So you got the job huh?” he quizzed, a cigarette hung limply in his mouth, “not bad Fratello, not bad.” I smirked and walked up to him, “why do you care so much about me getting in huh? You think I’m cute?” He chuckled and pulled out a box of cigarettes, “I was the one that saw you kill that guy. I thought it was impressive, but I also felt bad for you. It was your first time killing someone and that really fucks with you. I would know. Not only that but you weren’t protected by anyone and I thought, ‘he’s strong, and he needs help.’ So I told Carlos.” I took a cigarette and looked at him oddly. “Why do you care?” He rolled his eyes as he lit my cig, “if I’m being truthful, you remind me of my little brother, his name was Andrea.” I took a long drag, the smoke billowed in the air in front of me. “Was?” I asked, I kinda regretted saying that later on, but I was curious.

“He died when he was fifteen. A cop thought he was guilty of theft, so they shot him.” The guy looked at me, “he looked a lot like you, you know? Right down to the scar on through the eyebrow.” I felt very small all of a sudden, I felt like he poured his soul out to me, but he didn’t really say much. It was one of those moments where you feel guilty for something that wasn’t your fault. I extended my hand, “we didn’t have that good of a first meeting did we?” He shook his head, “no we didn’t.” I cradled the cigarette in my teeth, “My name is Rodrigo Amanti, and I’m your new intimidator.” He clasped my hand tightly, “Name’s Federico Caprio, and I’m your supervisor. I’ll be the one that keeps you out of trouble.”  
I chuckled, “I’ll be needing you a lot.”  
He scoffed and took a drag of his cig, “yeah yeah don’t overwork me.”


	2. Chapter Two

It was dark out whenever they brought me or threw me out of the house. Carlos instructed him to throw me in the Gulf with my feet and hands tied together, but drop an obvious hint to a certain police station so they could find me. Federico held me by the back of my neck on the dock, he leaned in and whispered, “don’t you die this soon.”

See, they left clues for a missing Italian boy, not knowing that white cops weren’t gonna look for one. However, I didn’t need them

The water was cold and for some reason, it felt thick. I remember thrashing, the muffled sounds of the world above. I remember the tightness in my chest when I realized I couldn’t get out. They had tied the rope to tight, and I was genuinely afraid to die, not for the reason most people are afraid of death but for personal ones. I didn’t wanna die before my new life began, and I made a promise to Michael. No, I had made two promises to Mikey. I swore we’d get the hell outta Louisiana, and that I wouldn’t die before him. I felt the water fill my lungs, it burned. It was like downing liquid fire. It hurt like hell. I blacked out not long after the burning sensation. The last thing I remember was the sound of the waves crashing together and the noiseless sounds of the city.

The next thing I remember was coughing up water on dry land. Every part of my body ached, especially my wrists. I opened my eyes to see Mikey hovering over me, his hair was wet. “Mike?” I groaned, closing my eyes for a second to adjust, “how.. How did you find me?” He sighed softly, “the-the mob left a message at the police station, I knew I had to come to find you.” I reopened my eyes, he was soaked, his eyes were watery and he had that dopey smile on his face. Before I knew it, he pulled me into a hug, “I dove in after those bastards left and you weren’t moving. That's when I saw that you were all tied up. I brought you up but you weren’t breathing and I got really scared. I thought I was too late.” I melted into him, his clothes smelled of cologne and saltwater. “You saved my life, Michael.” 

He squeezed me a little tighter, “I hate it when you do things like the Rod.”   
I took a deep breath, it felt good to have air in my lungs. “You hate it when I drown?”  
Mike made a noise of irritation, “I hate it when you go to places I can’t. I don't know why you feel the need to meet God so soon but you’re not allowed to you hear? God’ll just have to wait for his fucking turn cause I’m not done with you yet.” I laughed, and I mean I genuinely laughed. Michael was not gifted in terms of speech but he knew how to get the point across. I didn’t laugh at him because I thought it was funny, even though his veiled threat did tickle me a bit, I laughed because sounded like the same old Michael. It was like..like... Fuck I can’t think of a good comparison. 

Okay okay. You know when you walk into your nonna’s house and it has that particular smell? Its that smell that reminds you of home, of your childhood, of everything you miss about that place whenever you leave it, of everything that ever made you happy. That’s what Michael was to me. Hell, that’s what Michael is to me. He’s the equivalent of coming home. He had this loving familiarity around him, and he was devoted. Oh lord, he was devoted. I mean he ran all the way from the Third District to the docks because there was a hint that I could be there. He didn’t even know if it was a setup or not. That’s why I love him. He was kind, selfless, he led with his heart instead of his head and that got him in trouble sometimes. However, I didn’t want him any other way. In my eyes, he was perfect.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, “I never meant to put you through all this junk.”   
He pulled away and smiled that million-dollar smile, “it doesn’t matter anymore. C’mon let’s get you home.” 

When I got home my Zia was fuming. “Oi! Testa di cazzo! Dov'eri?” 

Here’s an interesting thing about me, I hate arguing in Italian. I find it a bit more cruel than English and well I can’t really roll my R’s when I’m heated. 

“I was out with Michael,” I lied through my teeth, desperate to go to sleep. “Non mentirmi!” she barked as I tossed my jacket onto the chair at the dining room table, “Michael ha detto che eri scomparso!” I sighed and turned to look at her, “zietta per favore, Sono stanco. Possiamo parlarne domattina?” She huffed and crossed her arms, “Va bene, ma voi siete genitori sarà avere un Diavolo per Capello.” I nodded and waved her goodnight. 

I shared a room with her boys. Their names were Alonzo and Enrique and they were both twelve at the time. I walked into our room and closed the door. The minute the door clicked, both boys sat up in bed.”

“Why’s mama mad at you?”  
“Are zia and zio gonna kill you?”   
“What happened?”

“Boys!” I cut them off, “I will answer all your questions in a bit, please let me get in my pj’s.” They went quiet and I changed clothes. At the time, I didn’t have any scars on my body like Ricky did. I was smooth as a marble floor back then. I remember the moment I sat down on my bed, both boys hopped on it to listen to my story. 

“I was at work today when this puttana walks up to me. He says that his friend wants to talk to me about my job, so I agree to talk to his friend. Now his friend was a nice guy, old, rich and honestly quite scary, but a nice guy nonetheless. This man said to me, ‘I know that you don’t get paid a lot for this job, being Italian and all but I have an offer.’ I was obviously very interested in his offer so I asked him to tell me what it was. He said, ‘if you work for me, I’ll pay you handsomely and everyone you work with is also Italian!’ 

The boys cooed in awe at the number. “Thats a lot of money Rod!” Alonzo whispered excitedly, “did you take the job?” I nodded once and they cheered loudly but I quickly cupped their mouths. “You can’t tell zietta and zio okay? Or your mama, I want to surprise them when the first paycheck comes in.” The boys nodded once and I took my hands off, “now go to bed! It’s late!” They did so. 

I didn’t sleep much that night. I had a dream about drowning and I couldn’t fall back to sleep afterward. It was 3am i think and I decided to grab a cup of coffee at the nearest diner. Right after I stepped out of my room, Francesca did the same. “Fratello?” she questioned, her voice quiet “Che stai facendo?” I looked around for our parents and once I was satisfied that we were alone, I answered her. “I’m going out tesoro, I can’t sleep.” She shook her head, “neither can I. You mind if I go with you?” I smiled and shook my head, “not at all.” 

I remember the motorcycle that I had. It cost me three months worth of paychecks to buy it. It was a yellow harley davidson hydra-glide. God the way that engine growled was intoxicating enough but to actually ride it? Man that was something else. I only had one helmet so any time I rode with my sisters, I gave it to them. I drove carefully when I was with them, shit I drove like Grandma Moses compared to how I normally did. However, I loved my sister and I didn’t want to scare her.

There was this little mom and pop diner downtown that opened at four in the morning. I used to go there with my dad before he started working a lot. I missed going with him when I was a teenager but I grew out of that when I turned 20. My sisters really liked that place and if they ever woke up early enough, I’d take them before work.

They had just opened their doors when we pulled up on my motorbike. The manager seemed happy to see us and automatically got the coffee pot and two mugs before we even found a place to sit. I ordered some pancakes and she got eggs and we sat in silence for a little while. “I heard you dreaming,” she murmured, “you sounded so scared.” I nodded, “it was just a nightmare Franny. I’m fine.” She looked at me with fiery eyes, I knew that she knew I was lying. My sister wasn’t anything less than brilliant. “You came home soaking wet in Micheals coat,” she asserted, her eyes stared daggers into mine, “and you had a night terror about drowning. What happened tonight?” I looked around for the manager and or any of the workers but no one was there. 

“I got into some trouble Francesca,” I admitted, “but everything worked out okay, I promise.” She slammed her mug down on the table so hard I thought it would shatter. “That’s not what I asked Rodrigo. What happened to you tonight?” Her fire was admirable, it was honestly my favorite part about my sister. The way she burned made me certain that she’d be alright whenever I left New Orleans. 

“I got pulled away from work today. I was offered a new job and I took it. Someone didn’t like that I took the job and they-” I closed my eyes, I felt that burning sensation in my lungs, the sound of the water as I thrashed around filled my ears. Suddenly, I felt her hands on mine and I opened my eyes, I didn’t even notice I was crying until she wiped the tears from my cheeks. I took a deep breath, “ ‘M sorry for crying Franny. I’m trying to be the strong big brother, I really am.” She smiled softly “Rod you’re the strongest man I’ve ever met.”

About a week passed before the mob sent for me. My overseer Mr. Caprio wrote me a letter that said I needed to meet him at Marcello’s house after sundown. I told Michael that I had something to do that night and that he shouldn’t wait up for me. Something told me that he wasn’t gonna listen to me. 

I pulled up just as the sun touched the horizon. Fredrico was already outside smoking a cigarette and holding a baseball bat. “Evening boss,” I called out as I hopped off my bike, “What's going on today?” He grinned as he tossed me the bat, “you’re gonna use that.” I scanned the object with intensity, checking for weak spots, for chips in the wood, for blood residue, the usual. Caprio flicked the bud of the cig somewhere and walked over to me, “you up to beat a man?” I nodded once, “always.”

I wasn’t supposed to kill the guy, which was hard since I had a damn baseball bat, but I managed. This is how I got my name. See, every mobster has a little nickname, you probably knew that though. Mine was Night-Night, it was childish, I know, but it was mine. I didn’t even plan to say it, it just flew out.

“Please!” the man begged, “I didn’t mean to forget the money! Honest!” I chuckled a bit, “ain’t that a bite,” I swung the bat back and forth, blood dripping off my pair of brass knuckles. “I hate to rain on your parade buddy, but I don’t care about your reasons. I’m just doing my job.” His eyes widened, “I’ll do whatever you want! Please just let me go!” I looked back at Fredrico and he shook his head. “They all say that kid, don’t let it get to you.”

I shrugged my shoulders and reeled back the baseball bat, “time to go night-night stronzo.”

My overseer tossed my rag so I could clean off the blood. “Night-night huh?” he quipped as he lit a joint, “Rodrigo ‘night-night’ Amanti. You know what I like the sound of that!” I chuckled as I soaked up the blood, “only you would like the sound of that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zia/zietta: Aunt/auntie
> 
> Zio: Uncle
> 
> "Oi! Testa di cazzo! Dov'eri?": Oi dickhead! Where were you?
> 
> Non mentirmi!: Don't lie to me!
> 
> "Michael ha detto che eri scomparso!”: Michael said you were missing
> 
> "zietta per favore, Sono stanco. Possiamo parlarne domattina?": Auntie please, I'm tired. Can we talk about this tomorrow?
> 
> Va bene, ma voi siete genitori sarà avere un Diavolo per Capello: Fine but you're parents will be angry as hell 
> 
> (Divaolo per Capello translates to "a devil for each hair" and its means to be furious)
> 
> Puttana: Bitch
> 
> Fratello: Brother
> 
> “Che stai facendo?” : What are you doing?
> 
> tesoro: Treasure
> 
> Stronzo: Asshole

**Author's Note:**

> Italian Translations:  
Vaffanculo: go fuck yourself 
> 
> Fanculo a me, codardo!: Fuck me yourself coward
> 
> studiare: study
> 
> Sei Italiano?: Are you italian?
> 
> Quale parte d’Italia sei di bambino: What part of italy are you from kid?
> 
> Fratello: brother


End file.
